


4.35

by nessla



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Cats, F/F, I Don't Even Know, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-02-18 15:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18702757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nessla/pseuds/nessla
Summary: The small café was smack-dab middle in the business district, and with that came the hordes of grey-suited important people with frizzy hair and stress-lines on their faces.Nina, the perpetually stressed multi-location owner had warned Trixie about people like her on Trixie's first day. Beware the ones that manage to look good and smell of money.Those are the ones that will crush you without even trying.Katya was definitely one of those.She was also bat-shit crazy.Easily Trixie's favorite customer.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so..
> 
> I have no idea what I'm doing but I'm doing it anyway. Lemme know what you think.  
> This is totally AU. 
> 
> Obviously, because the actual Trixie does not like cats.
> 
> (Title: Saint Etienne - 4.35 in the Morning)

I

 

Trixie was staring at the mess of blueberries, whipped cream, and grenadine syrup.

Adore shuffled her feet, trying her best to act like she didn't care. She'd better care.

Trixie had just made the berry scones, waited for them to cool, then balanced plump little blueberries delicately on top of them, and now the whole tray was on the floor, squashed under Adore's boots, with the addition of a broken syrup bottle.

It would be hellish to clean.

"But how? I don't even need, or god forbid, want to know why. Just tell me how, how on Earth.."

Adore had the courtesy of biting her lip as if she actually gave a fuck.

She was hungover, Trixie could tell. Her hair smelled of cigarettes and her make up was even more of a mess than usual.

"I'm taking these off your paycheck," Trixie decided.

"You can't."

"Watch me."

"I'll sue," Adore mumbled, flipped her off and disappeared in the back.

Trixie watched her go, tried (in vain) to stare sharp daggers into her back, then bent down to clean the mess before the morning rush would begin.

Of course, she wouldn't take anything off Adore's pay. She couldn't even if she wanted to. Not her coffee shop, not her rules.

It was an okay job. Not too stressful, usually. Trixie served complicated coffee drinks and flirted like mad to get better tips.

It wasn't bad, she likes the job, but recently Adore had been even more late and useless than usual.

Maybe she should talk to her, make sure everything is okay.

"Ring-a-ding-a-ling, Barbie."

Trixie startled, hitting her head on the cutesy mug shelf with a loud bang. "Ow, god damn.."

The voice was familiar enough and the woman it belonged to, Katya, was hanging over the bar, grinning blindingly like a madman at Trixie's obvious pain.

She was one of their regulars, a familiar fixture, usually a happy interruption in their mundane daily routine.

An eccentric, weird interruption – sometimes she put on a heavy Russian accent, sometimes she demanded to sing her order (always the same – a black coffee) even though she fully couldn't hold a note. She tipped absurdly well.

Katya was a weird combination of off-the-wall crazy and conservative. She was always dressed impeccably, power suits and sleek blonde hair, red lipstick that never seemed to run or fade. Her phones (not one, two) rang often. Sometimes she had phone conversations in foreign languages in clipped tones while waiting for her coffee.

They had a lot of weird customers in the coffee shop, for some reason, but Katya was surely the weirdest one.

She was someone important. Trixie could tell that the second Katya had first waltzed into the small café like she owned the place. She had the money. She had the aura.

And right now she was dangling over Trixie, grinning like a maniac Trixie fully knew she was. "Are you laughing at my demise? Again?"

Trixie grumbled and got an animated series of nods as an answer.

She stood up, still feeling a little woozy from the impact. Her head hurt, low ringing dull pain with precise white sharpness in the center.

Katya squinted, inched even closer. She had probably discarded her black don't-fuck-with-me-I-actually- _can_ -fire-you -heels on the floor and was now dangling in the air.

"Just reminiscing about our first day together. It was so beautif..", she began, but then lost the train of thought. "Ooh! Delicious! Looks like a My Little Pony puked in there."

"I could scoop you up some into your tar drink if you want. Would be an improvement to your current, non-existent breakfast."

Katya tapped her fingers against the counter, watching carefully as Trixie fixed her coffee. Takeaway cup, extra napkins. "I'm going to miss your pestering."

Trixie paused, then pushed the cup over. "You're going somewhere?"

"Gonna miss me?" Katya lowered herself down, finally, and wiggled back into her heels.

"Gonna miss your money," Trixie answered, truthfully, and earned a burst of a wheezing laugh as a reward. "Is Myshka the Cat coming with you?"

Katya blinked at her, slowly.

Trixie stared back. Katya blinked again.

Trixie raised her eyebrows. "Are you having a stroke?"

"Maybe. No. I mean probably not. What are the signs of a stroke? Is one of them forgetting your pet?" Katya was looking a little crazed. That wasn't unusual, so Trixie just laughed.

The sound, although calibrated to the soundscape of the small café, was loud enough that the few customers that were waiting in the line for Adore to serve them turned to look.

She put on her best apologetic customer service smile. They looked away.

Katya didn't, apparently now fully recovered from the mini-stroke, smiling at her stupidly. "Not really," Katya said, scrunching her nose. She threw a couple of bills on the counter, way too much as usual. "Mostly I forgot myself. And myself leaving. Which, by the way, I have to do now. Bye!"

With that, she was out. Trixie stared at the closed door for a second, mystified, then remembered the horrific mess on the floor.

"I'll get you for this," she grumbled to Adore in a low, hopefully terrifying voice while passing her by.

"Maybe you should get something else first.."

"What?" Trixie said, poking her head back from the supply closet.

"Nothing."

 

*** * ***

 

The small café was smack-dab middle in the business district, and with that came the hordes of grey-suited important people with frizzy hair and stress-lines on their faces.

More often they spoke to their phones during the entire interaction, in and out, did not exchange pleasantries with their baristas (who were usually women, younger, artistic type – that is, _lower status_ , thus _unimportant_ ).

Technically Katya was one of _those_ people. She had flawlessly cut business suits, high heels, beautiful blonde hair and an air of authority around her.

One of those that Nina, the perpetually stressed multi-location owner had warned her about on her first day. Beware the ones that manage to look good and smell of money. Those are the ones that will crush you without even trying.

Katya was definitely one of those.

She was also bat-shit crazy.

Easily Trixie's favorite customer.

Katya had been a regular long before Trixie, had visited there for as long as their small over-priced, super-fancy café with overly complicated coffee drinks had been there, and always ordered the same thing.

They met when Trixie was working her second swift. It was an early morning, she was buzzed with anxiety about the new people, new responsibilities, new machines, new routines. She was going through her opening checklist with, foolishly, her back turned to the door.

The deep, scratchy voice that purred almost next to her ear made her jump. "Ooh, new meat!"

When Trixie jumped and hit her head painfully on the metallic shelf over her, she saw a blonde woman in a silent, violent laughing fit.

"Oh my god, did I just kill a Barbie before 6 am?" the woman managed to wheeze, then coughed, then laughed some more.

Trixie blinked at her rubbing the back of her head, slightly offended.

"Hi," she managed. "How can I help you today?"

The woman quieted suddenly down, and all the laughter disappeared from her face.

Blue eyes stared at her unblinking for a long while, like searching for something. She leaned closer, tilting her head a little. Her lips, brilliant red, opened a little.

"A black coffee," the women rasped, without missing a beat. "Any fucking blend."

Trixie was deeply confused, in pain and equal parts scared and annoyed. Nina emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of something-or-other but didn't seem to notice the odd interaction.

"Do you know that only sociopaths can hold extended eye contact?" Trixie said before she could stop herself.

"Sociopaths," the woman repeated slowly.

"Yeah. Like, serial killers."

Trixie heard Nina drop the tray next to her.

The woman stared at her for a second longer and then unraveled like a spool of yarn, falling into even more hysteric but a silent fit of laughter, slamming her perfectly manicured, red-nailed hand on the table. Her teeth were so white. She looked ridiculous. Trixie found herself smiling in spite of herself.

"Mama, I'm both! Both!"

"I knew it. Only serial killers drink pitch-black coffee."

"Seven dead just this morning. It was bloody and gruesome."

Nina interrupted then, pushed the coffee quickly to the woman in a takeaway cup, probably just that Trixie couldn't fuck the situation up any further. "There you go, Katya. I'm sorry, she's new."

Katya. The name suited her.

Katya waved Nina's apologies away, still looking at Trixie and grinning like a maniac. "It's okay. I think I found my next victim. She would be so pretty in a pool of red hot blood. All that pink. I love to paint with colors."

Nina smiled tightly at that, but Trixie had to work to keep her laughter down.

After that Katya flat-out refused to be served by anyone but Trixie if she was available. It was weird and flattering, and slightly psychotic. The tips were amazing, and Katya was a bright burst of crazy in her mundane routine, so Trixie didn't mind. She didn't know much about the woman. She was rich enough and probably powerful and often busy, but ever since Katya heard that Trixie loved cats, she had often time to show pictures of her own little furball. It was a cute Russian blue called Myshka, and it knew how to open doors. They have spent some quality time together cooing at videos of Myshka.

If she was honest, like super honest, like never-would-admit-to-no-one-honest, sometimes Katya (and her tips) were the favorite part of her day. Not just the never-ending work shift but the actual day.

It didn't take much though, her days were full of work, work, work, then dragging herself home, complicated skincare routine, then watching Netflix with Kim or alone in their drafty living room, curled under a warm blanket.

That sounded super sad. Scratch that. Trixie fully had more things going on in her life. Like, she goes out sometimes. She likes wearing painfully high heels, paint her face and getting free drinks just because she looks good. She plays her guitar, some days. She has friends. Her life isn't sad. Maybe a little boring, not sad.

 

 *** * ***  

 

Trixie knew who was at the door before she heard the unmistakable click of heels.

She poured the black coffee into a takeaway cup. Double lid.

As she swirled around, Katya was already there. Pure manic energy matched with a manic smile. Ugh. It was not even 5 am.

“Hi Barbie!”

“Still not made of plastic!” Trixie answered with the same sing-songy voice.

Katya squinted at her. “Really? Could’ve sworn.”

“Maybe you’re losing your eyesight at the ripe age of 50,” Trixie smirked, trying to keep her voice down. No need to offend other customers.

Katya snorted. “But really, that hair today! Oh mama, you’re giving me full 50’s housewife on speed. Speaking of which, gimme my drug.”

“We’re all out of speed, sorry,” Trixie quipped.

“Aww..” Katya pouted.

Trixie mimicked the expression with her baby-pink lips. “So sad.”

Katya took the offered coffee, but she did not move. Trixie couldn’t move either. Katya held her gaze like she was searching for something, blue eyes were unflinching on her.

“What?” Trixie asked, little shaken. Katya didn’t rattle her often, not anymore, but this was different. She felt herself blushing. Thank god for heavy makeup. “You psycho. Stop staring at me.”

“Listen,” Katya said, way too serious. It was bordering on scary. “I have a proposition. There’s money involved.”

Okay, thank god _thank god_ thank god for makeup. Trixie was pretty sure she was fully red by now. There’s only so much innuendo she can take from power-suited gorgeous older women.

"So, so flattered,” she managed to mumble. “But I’m pretty much, uh, not for sale. Wanna try our blueberry sconces? They are not trampled by idiots today. Much tastier.”

Katya laughed then, and although it was not full-on crazy laugh, it was something else than quiet intensity. “Want to spend some time with Myshka? I’ll pay handsomely.” “Your.. cat?”

“Yes, my cat. I’m going on a trip. Myshka needs someone to feed him. Preferably to pet him too. My cleaning lady hates him…”

“What a monster.”

“… I know. An absolute monster, but an efficient one. So you don't have to clean. You have to do nothing but pet the cat for two weeks. Not like, continuously. You can take breaks from petting.”

Trixie did not buy it. “I could steal all your shit.”

Katya shrugged, not at all bothered. “I can buy new shit. Really. I’m leaving tomorrow night. Two weeks. Two grand. Let me know. Don’t let Myshka down.”

“I would never,” Trixie mumbled automatically.

With that, Katya slipped her a sleek business card and a wink and disappeared again in her Louboutins.

 _Yekaterina Zamolodchikova_ , the card read. A phone number, email, nondescript company name.

No job title. Okay then.

 

 


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIXIE  
> The cat is fed and petted. Shouldn’t you be working or something?
> 
> KATYA  
> time zones u stupid bitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited! Not much, but fixed the tense issues.
> 
> Lord forgive me, English is not my first language. (Actually it's not that, I'm just super awful with keeping something together.)

Kim stared at her. Her eyes looked unnaturally huge. Trixie wondered idly about the number of fake lashes her friend had put on. It was Tuesday.

They were sitting at the bar, the one that was half-way from Kim’s job at Sephora and Trixie’s job at Nina’s, the one that was more reasonably priced. Not cheap, no, but they could afford one or two drinks. Trixie could get them more if she could be bothered with men. Especially if she came right from work with more _pleasant_   (that is, boring) makeup. Ugh.

  
“You’re not.. actually planning to do it?” Kim managed, finally.

“I dunno,” Trixie said, twirling the straw in her vodka-soda. “I mean, why not? I have nothing else going on. It’s good money.”

“She sounds like a serial killer. That’s why not.”

Trixie couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “I have told her that.”

“When you met in a coffee shop. Where you’re the barista and she’s the customer.”

“So?”

“It’s weird,” Kim said, bluntly. “It’s so, so weird. Who asks a barista to feed a cat for two weeks? And pays them two thousand dollars for it?”

Trixie half-shrugged. Her drink was getting empty way too fast. “I dunno. A busy person with no friends? Don’t judge. Also, I’m pretty sure she’s not paying that much. She talks a lot of shit.”

“Some people have to be judged to stay alive, Beatrice. Stay sexy, don’t get murdered.”

“She’s different, Kimberly.” Trixie couldn’t really put her finger on it, so she didn’t elaborate, despite Kim’s inquiring eyes.

“You’re the worst judge of character I’ve ever met. All your ex-girlfriends, and boyfriends..”

“Don’t remind me.”

“We all have deeply cut wounds of the time the great lesbian Beatrice Mattel decided to be straight for a year for some white guy called Robert, so no, you are not allowed to forget that either. I’m getting drinks for us. Vodka-soda?”

Trixie nodded, but Kim was already gone.

Katya’s business card was tucked into the breast pocket of her pink shirt. She fished it out and smoothed the small bends that had appeared on the matte black paper during the day. Yekaterina, she spelled once again, her lips moving slightly with the foreign syllables. The name was written in gold, in slim capital letters. _Are you going to kill me, Yekaterina?_

“Or she wants to fuck you,” Kim continued, slamming the vodka-soda in front of her with unnecessary force, both scaring her and spilling the drink. Trixie might have screamed, just a little, then laughed-screamed, a lot.

  
“What? No.”

“She’ll be there wearing expensive lingerie. Legs spread on her huge bed.”

_“No.”_

“Smooth jazz on the background. Candles: lit. Bottle of wine: opened.”

“No, stop, please.”

“The only pussy that needs petting..”

“Oh my god. Kim. Please. She’s my customer. Please don’t make this weird.”

Kim’s eyes were fixed on her again, unwavering. “But that’s the thing. It is already weird. So, so weird.”

Trixie diverted the discussion then because there were more important things to discuss. Just released neon pink makeup palette (not as good as they had hoped); a new café that had opened nearby Nina’s (not going to last); why Kim will not go to a particular gym anymore (people suck) and how and why Adore had been such a fuck-up lately. For that one they had plenty of theories, none of which were plausible.

“But would you?” Kim asked when they were walking home. It was a mellow night, almost too warm for a jacket.

“Huh?”

“Pet the pussy. For two grand.”

Trixie scowled at her as long as she can. It was not for very long.

 

*** * ***

  
At home, Trixie found a half-full bottle of cheap white wine under her bed. She couldn't concentrate on Netflix, couldn't find anything to watch on YouTube, couldn't be bothered with music.

She stared at the ceiling for a while.

Then, head swimming with a pleasant blur, surrounded by her pink fairy lights and boredom, she fished the business card out again.

 

TRIXIE

OK, I’ll do it. For the cat.

 

Then, cheeks burning (because this is not how you do business!), she sent another message.

 

TRIXIE

It’s Trixie. From Nina’s.

 

TRIXIE

From the coffee shop. Regarding the offer to house-sit.

 

TRIXIE

Or cat-sit. Is that a word? lol

 

TRIXIE

Sorry. I promise to be more professional with the cat.

 

 _Be more professional with the cat._ She stared at the messages for a moment or two, taking gulps of wine.

It was nearly 2 am. Katya is a customer, Katya might have just been joking, Katya might get her fired for this.

Lord knows Nina would be screwed without her, and Nina is nice to the bone, but who knows.

She sent one last message, this time to Kim.

 

TRIXIE

Never let me text drunk again please confiscate my phone next time we get home after midnight please

 

In the morning she’s filled with headache and regret. Kim hasn’t answered her desperate plea but has loaded the coffee maker and placed an aspirin next to it.

She had one new message from an unknown number, not Katya’s. It had an address and door codes.

Well, fuck.

 

 

* * *

 

Katya’s place was ridiculous.

Trixie knew it would be, she knew Katya was rich and insane, but this was ridiculous.

She almost circled back approximately seven times before she even reached the apartment on her yellow bike, her hair on two messy buns, eyes lined with bright green. Trixie was pretty sure people that were passing by were staring at her. She stuck out like a sore thumb with her worn-out sneakers and smell of roasted coffee in her hair. Her makeup was probably running after a long day in the café.

The only thing that got her there was the idea of a hungry little cat meowing in darkness, alone.

Katya, of course, owned a loft apartment in a super chic area. Objectively it was way too large for one person. Trixie wandered through the rooms, unabashedly curious. It was not empty, by a long shot. Every nook and cranny was filled with mysterious objects, antique furniture, and knick-knacks. There was a display of severed doll heads in the dining room wall. One bookcase contained nothing but books of terrible crimes and witch hunts and spells and mythologies. With morbid curiosity, Trixie picked up a realistic looking skull of an ornate side table. It’s not real, thank god.

She counted five separate bedrooms. A dinner hall. Three different kinds of library rooms. One kitchen, which looked criminally clean and underused for such a gorgeous little kitchen.

Katya had left her number on one of the antique coffee tables. No message, no further instructions, just hastily scrawled “T,” and a phone number and signed with an exaggerated red kiss. The other phone, Trixie thought. Now she has two numbers.

Trixie snorted at the ridiculousness of it all, saved the number on her phone and plopped down to a plum-colored divan. Something soft brushed against her bare leg.

She abandoned her phone straight away. “Oh, kitty!”

The cat was already gone. It took Trixie a while to locate him. He was in one of the large bookcases that circled the room, and he was staring daggers at her. He had a nest there, Trixie noticed, a little pillow to sit on. She tried to reach to him, to let him smell her hand, but the cat flinched away. His eyes were tiny slits of doubt.

She retreated back to the divan.

 

TRIXIE  
I’m here. The Cat is alive, although scared of me.

 

Her phone lit up immediately. The messages fired through at a rapid pace.

 

KATYA

it has a name and you know it, barbie

he’s scared of everyone

his food is in the kitchen counter

like fill his bowl once a day he's not picky

u don’t have to worry about the litter box i have a cleaning lady

she’s lovely her name is jennifer

ok it isn’t i can’t remember her name

don’t call her jennifer please

 

 

TRIXIE

The irony is palpable.

But I don’t know how to spell his name. So it’s a Cat.

 

KATYA

myshka

you’re illiterate

& also they didn’t teach russian at bumfuck wisconsin?? im shocked

u don’t earn a name until you learn his

 

TRIXIE

Oh no, a customer at my café doesn’t use my name

I’m fully crushed

 

Trixie wandered into the kitchen again. There, tucked in a corner, were the cat’s bowls, but no food in sight. She filled the water bowl first, then opened up a couple of drawers experimentally. Two of them were totally empty. One contained a fancy looking bottle opener and a cat-shaped wine stopper. It looked old and felt heavy in her hands. 

The fourth drawer had a sharp-looking, oversized knife in it.

The fourth drawer had neatly stored cat food.

“It looks like you eat better than me, Myshka,” Trixie called out, even though there were no cats in sight. “I’m all processed food, salt, and grains. Your food is super healthy. No bad things.”

She sat down on the kitchen floor, all concrete and modern like the rest of the kitchen (standing out like a sore thumb when compared to the rest of the apartment), filled the bowl and shook it a little, awkwardly. Myshka doesn’t appear. She fished out her phone.

 

KATYA

whatever you say tracy

 

TRIXIE

The cat is fed and petted. Shouldn’t you be working or something?

 

A few minutes later, as she was already leaving the apartment, she received a photo of Katya flicking her middle finger to her in very expensive looking pajamas and reading glasses. She had a pen stuck behind her ear, her blonde hair was messy, her face clean, no make-up. It seemed like she was just lounging on a huge hotel bed with a glass of red wine and a massive pile of paper. Trixie would never have sent anyone that kind of picture (well, maybe for Kim or Adore – they had seen everything). Katya looked kind of adorable.

 

KATYA

time zones u stupid bitch

 

TRIXIE

V. polite way to thank your cat feeder slash house watcher.

Btw. Can’t Jennifer-or-whoever “watch the house” or feed the cat or whatever

 

KATYA

no

i don’t trust her

also she only comes twice a week

and hates poor myshka

which is why i hate her

we’ve been over this tracy

 

TRIXIE

But you trust me. Ok.

 

KATYA

you haven’t poisoned my coffee yet

 

TRIXIE

It’s a slow-working poison.

 

KATYA

cool!

can’t wait to see how i’ll die

please don’t poison my poor little myshka

 

She was so focused on drafting the perfect response that she almost tripped over herself. The feeling of suddenly falling was enough to bring Trixie back to herself and enough to make her realize what was happening. That is, she was sending stupid messages to a crazy person that frequents her café. Not only that, but she was pretty sure she’s the one being laughed at here.

Okay. No more messages.

 

* * *

 

She biked home. It’s already dark. The soft wind bit into her buns and tore them open. It felt good, so she didn't bother to fix them.

Their apartment felt dark and cold. Kim emerged briefly from her room to stare at her. She was so totally wrapped into a blanket that the only thing visible were her eyes and a tuft of lavender hair.  
“You’re not dead,” Kim mumbled.

“Nah,” Trixie answered.

She gave Kim half a wave, giving permission to fall back asleep.

It wasn’t late, not even 9 pm, but who is she to point fingers. If Kim wants to sleep, let her. She works and is a mother-fucking student at the same time. Sleep when you can.

But being alone only made the apartment feel even more lonely.

It’s weird. When Trixie moved here, this small room was all she had ever wanted. Privacy? Oh my god, yes. A place to play her guitar without no one bitching about the noise? Yes, please. She could bring girls home and not hide everything about her that made her who she is? It was everything.

She had painted the walls baby pink and put on small delicate fairy lights, just like the all the girls in Tumblr had. She had made veggie meals, and no one gave her bullshit about it. During the first year, she woke up every night, just because no one had woken her up yet with drunken yelling. She had gotten a job, then a better job, then a better job. They were shitty jobs, of course, but she had her own money for the first time ever.

She had kissed boys, and girls, and had fallen in love, and then it broke apart, repeatedly. Then, ta-dah, four years had passed, and she was 22. It’s like, she managed to reach something super important but stalled there.

Now the pink paint had chipped a little, here and there. There were a couple of burnt out little lights.

She tried really hard not to examine that as any kind of metaphor.

Instead, she picked up her phone again, and – before any regret had reached her fingertips – took a picture of herself, in her bed, blonde curls pooling under her over her violet sheets, flashing a victory sign.

 

TRIXIE

Back home. If Cat is not alive, blame Jennifer.

 

KATYA

[thumb emoji] [skull emoji] [drink emoji]

 

 


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIXIE
> 
> Find me someone to love
> 
> I'm like 50% serious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI!!
> 
> remember me? that's ok, neither do i.
> 
> welcome to the third installment of "wait, wasn't this supposed to be a coffee shop AU" -fic, provided by yours truly
> 
> (ps. obviously do not have a beta reader. Any comment, help and bribes of coffee/wine are welcome. You can reach me at my very new Tumblr @ nessla-writes .)

KATYA

how is my baby?

 

It was the fifth day. The message arrived during the rare quiet moment in the café. Well, three customers were waiting for their orders, but Adore could handle that on her own. She owed that to Trixie after all the fucking up last week and the week before.

So, it wasn't too much of a burden to her conscience to slip away to the little corner that served as some kind of office space. Trixie lifted her aching legs up to the table to rest.

Katya had been quiet since the first day. Trixie, dutifully, had sent small updates about the cat. There wasn't much to say. Filled the bowl; cat didn't let me near him. It was pretty disheartening, to be honest. Trixie had always seen herself as a cat person – hell, as an animal person. Once, when she was young, a butterfly had landed on her hair. Cats and dogs loved her. But no, not this one.

Katya hadn't answered any of those messages. Of course, she had no obligation to respond, but it felt awkward. Trixie didn't want to over-analyze anything (really, she was done with that shit, she refused to be a victim of that particular character flaw anymore), least of all how a mind of a crazy person works, but.. she had to admit it wasn't nice. Must be some kind of gut-deep primary human response: if you send a message, you wish for an answer. You want to be on the same level.

Of course, they weren't at the same level. Katya was an actual adult with an actual job, money, and responsibility. Trixie made coffee and, now, apparently, was worthy of feeding the cats of more important people. 

 

TRIXIE

He was fine yesterday.

 

KATYA

yesterday??

tracy u better get there now

i'm getting a scary vibe

 

TRIXIE

I'm at work. So.

 

The fact that Katya didn't respond sent Trixie to a weird spiral of self-doubt for the rest of her shift. It was stupid. Maybe she really should get a life. She fired a couple of quick message to Kim before climbing on her bike.

 

TRIXIE

Find me someone to love

I'm like 50% serious

 

Trixie filled the cat's bowl, shook it for good measure even though that little gesture had done anything for the last five days, filled the water bowl, and got a glass of water for herself. She found him in the green library room, like always, perched in the little nest up in the bookcase.

"Hi, little sour face", Trixie murmured, reached out to touch him. He flinched away, ears pressed against his little face. "Okay. No need to be scared. I'm just texting your mama now. She misses you today."

The emerald green divan had become her usual place. It had a little table next to it where she placed her water glass. She liked to imagine the drink was something stronger, that she was more than a cat-sitter, that she belonged in this little corner. The room had a pleasant feeling in it. It would feel even better if the cat didn't want to kill her by staring daggers at her.

 

TRIXIE

The cat is alive.

 

KATYA

but how would you know???

tracy don't lie to me

send me a pic

 

Trixie sighed, took a long sip of the water. What a psycho. At least Katya was texting her again.

 

TRIXIE

Well, I'm here now. He's safe and sound, happily hating me in the bookcase.

 

KATYA

aww. that's my sweet boy

but i need a picture

 

She took the damn picture. It took five times to get it right and even then it was mostly her hair, her eyes and her two fingers in a victory sign. On the background, the bookcase where the cat was just barely visible in the looming darkness: two angry, glowing eyes.

"I'm sending this to your mama," Trixie explained. The cat looked at her with withering disinterest.

 

KATYA

cool

but i actually wanted to see the cat, you know

nah kidding

good to see you have found my malay

please do not spill on her

 

TRIXIE

Your what now.

 

KATYA

the thing you are sitting on, hun

is expensive

 

Trixie spent a moment staring at the Malay or whatever shit she was sitting on. She brushed her fingertips over the fabric once, twice, and – sure, it felt expensive. It felt smooth, velvety. Feeling bold, she wrapped her fingers around a button in its upholstery and tried to pull it off. It didn't budge. She peeked at its legs, sleek and brass.  

Definitely more expensive than she was. Maybe 50 years of her paychecks. Maybe 10 years of prostitution.

God, she had a dark mind sometimes.

There was something under the sofa. Trixie fished it out. A lockbox, marked with cursive, foreign letters. Of course, because Katya seemed to have every possible surface of the apartment filled with something-or-other. No wonder the cleaning lady seemed tense.

She shook the box a little, listening carefully. There was something inside it, maybe papers. Probably something sentimental, like love letters and photographs of a marriage failed or birth certificates of babies sent to expensive boarding school.

A small but horrifying thought entered her mind. She pushed the box where she had found it.

 

TRIXIE

You don't have any secret security cameras inside the house that I should know or.. ?

 

KATYA

what no

are u crazy that kinda thing could be used to blackmail me later

waitttttt what are you doing??

 

TRIXIE

Nothing much.

 

KATYA

no I wanna know!!!

because ooh girl there's not much you can't do but do send me a picture about it

or a video

depending

 

TRIXIE

[thinking emoji]

 

KATYA

no but really, that little poor baby malay has been tragically unused

good to know it found its owner

 

TRIXIE

[thinking emoji] [thinking emoji]

 

KATYA

mother, i'm harassing tweens again

 

TRIXIE

oh my god shut up

 

 

* * *

 

Kim was singing/yelling in her right ear. Adore was yelling/yelling in her left ear. Trixie could feel the beat of the club in her arms, in her ribcage, in her hair. It was wonderful. She swayed a little, held her eyes closed, and could still see the neon beams shooting up everywhere. The floor was sticky, but even that was somehow charming.

"AND THEN SHE SAID- -," Adore continued, even louder, but Trixie could not hear the repeated sentence over the beat, or over Kim's intentionally botched lyrics to whatever the mixed version of the current top-25 song was throbbing over the club.

She swayed with the music overload a bit, letting her neck crack, her curls fall over her bare shoulders, feeling the week disappear in a hazy bliss of vodka-sodas. Three vodka-sodas. Maybe four. Whatever, she could afford it, if the Katya check cleared. If it didn't, she could always steal something valuable from the apartment.

Maybe not even to sell. Perhaps just for the story. Katya has a lot of cool-looking stuff.

Once I babysat a hateful cat for a confirmed crazy person, like super good-looking but...

"YOU ARE NOT LISTENING," Adore yelled at her ear, too loud even for the club.

Trixie waited for a lull in the beat, then fixed her brown eyes into Adore's. "I can't hear even myself. Not about you. You, I love. Ok?"

"Ok," Adore conceded, still bristling a little. "Uuuughhh. Shots? Anyone?"

"Everyone," Kim decided and shoved them to the counter.

It was peer-pressure that forced Trixie to chug her vodka-soda down with a countdown (3-2-1 YAAAAAAAAAY YOU THIRSTY BITCH, as Adore delicately put it), and it was peer pressure that then made her do a shot of tequila, and after that things went a bit hazy for a couple of hours.

 

* * *

 

There was a gum stuck under her heel. Maybe just the general stickiness? No, definitely a gum.

They were standing (barely) on the sidewalk. Adore was draped around Trixie's neck, swaying, eyes closed. Trixie was trying to get the gum off and hold Adore together at the same time. Good thing she is an expert at multitasking.

"I think I'm in love," the younger girl was muttering, again and again. "It sucks."

Her voice was wet. Trixie's skin was damp from where Adore has been shedding lonely tears now and then. Trixie petted her green hair.

Kim, rational as always, no matter how drunk she is, was trying to get them an Uber.

"When are you not?" Trixie muttered in Adore's ear, gently. "You're just very, very, very, very drunk."

"So are yooou, Trix."

"Yeah well, that last shot? Super bad idea, A."

Adore managed to detangle herself from Trixie's neck, managed to flash a smile. Queen of mood swings. "Nah I meant, you're in love too."

Trixie's laugh was so sudden and brash it surprised even herself. "What? With what?"

Adore opened her black-lipped mouth, red-rimmed eyes gleaming mischievously, but whatever she was about to say was drowned out by an ambulance siren. Somehow in a split second Adore turns back into a sobbing mess.

"I just think I love her and that's not okay, and I don't know what to do and.."

Trixie still had no idea what or who she was talking about, so she just gathered the smaller mess of a girl in her arms. "It's ok. You'll be ok."

"Speaking of your favorite serial killer," Kim said loudly, apparently tired of their mushiness. "How's the cat doing? You did visit it today? I was supposed to remind you. This is the reminder."

It took a second for Trixie to process while trying to pry Adore's hair away from her glossy lipstick and holding the quietly sobbing girl. "Wha.. oh my god."

Kim didn't look very impressed. "You forgot the cat."

"Oh my god."

"You forgot the cat, you psycho. Didn't you?"

"Oh my god. Oh my god. Adore, honey, I have to go." She detangled herself from Adore's arms, sure that Kim would bring her home to sleep on their couch, as usual.

"I'm gonna throw up," Adore said suddenly, and then threw up.

Kim sighed. "Cool."

 

 

* * *

 

It didn't take too long to reach Katya's apartment, thank god. Trixie toed off her heels in the foyer, not wanting to get the gum anywhere on the fancy wooden floors, fumbled just a bit with the code lock.

The apartment was way creepier in the dark. Trixie flipped on every possible light as she walked in, even the table lamps, but still, she felt spooked out. It almost felt like she was not supposed to be there. Almost felt like whoever had lived here didn't anymore. She was fully expecting to find a corpse or two lying around.

Also, she was drunk, and that usually altered her mental state.

"Okay Myshka, I'm here now," she called out. "Sorry I was late. Been super busy."

She had taken to talking to the cat whenever she's around, especially when Katya couldn't answer her check-in text messages. He didn't seem to mind, staying steadfast in his dislike. Still, it felt more natural than keeping the cat company in silence.

Myshka didn't appear to the kitchen when she filled the bowls. She called out to him, again. The apartment felt cold, the creatures in the painting and weird little sculptures stared at her.

When she didn't find the cat in his usual place in the bookcase, she became slightly worried. The worry grew and grew when she couldn't find it anywhere in the room. Not anywhere in the kitchen. Not anywhere in the other rooms she had seen him, sometimes.

Trixie let herself lean against the wall, just a little. She tried to breathe evenly. How many hours since she last saw Myshka? It was yesterday. It was before work. Anything could have happened.

Katya is going to kill her.

"Where aareee youuuu?"

Her voice trembled a bit. She proceeded to check every room in the apartment, every possible nook and cranny. She crawled around like a crazy drunk person (well...), checked under the beds, under tables, between bigger sculptures and curtains. No Myshka.

She called out to him. She tried to figure out every place a little, angry-as-fuck cat could potentially hide in. Nothing. Not a peep.

Okay.

With a shuddering breath, Trixie picked up her phone before she could doubt herself. If Katya can't or doesn't want to answer, she won't.

This was the responsible thing to do. She is being so responsible. Such an adult. Well done, Trixie.

"Trixie? Is there something wrong?"

But of course Katya answered, and of course, her voice was tinged with worry because Trixie hasn't talked on the phone with her before and it's 4 am here, god, and of course Trixie began to cry.

"I'm so sorry", she babbled, tried to stop, to breathe. It didn't work. "I can't find Myshka. I think he has escaped. I'm so sorry."

The silence on the line was crushing her, heating her already tear-streaked cheeks. Trixie probably woke Katya up, or interrupted an important meeting, or took her valuable little personal time. Maybe she was with someone. "I'm sorry I called you, I…"

"No no no", Katya interrupted. "It's good that you called. Trixie, don't take this the wrong way, but have you been drinking, perhaps? Indulging, in some ways, perhaps?"

Oh god, she's such a fuck-up. The easiest job in the world and she fucked it up. She never went to college, fucked that up. All the relationships, fucked those up. The weird work friendship with the nutjob on the phone line, fucked that up too. Left Kim to take care of Adore, alone, again – fucked up.

"Yes", she managed the breathe out, then started to  cry again. "I'm sorry, I'm so stupid."

"Okay, shut up, babe. No more apologies. Breathe."

Trixie shut up. She bit her tongue and let herself slip on the wooden floor. It smelled nice. Like wood and pine. She sniffed to let Katya know that yes, she was still here.

She could hear Katya shuffling on the other side, the rustling of fabric. There were no other voices on the background that she could hear, no car horns or wind catching the phone line. Katya was probably on her bed then, or maybe lounging in some elegant armchair. Perhaps with her laptop on, legs curled under her. Those stupid reading glasses on her forehead, not being used. The image calms Trixie down a little, so she focuses on it.

"So," Katya said finally, voice casual. "Myshka is hiding somewhere. Fun! This is like a game of drunken hide and seek. Well, I hope the cat isn't drunk."

It was weird hearing her voice. It was wearier than Trixie remembered.  They had texted (so much) whenever Trixie was in Katya's apartment. She had sent a couple of selfies with and without the cat. Katya had answered (when she had) with some of her own (mostly skewed, out of focus, weird reaction faces, her toes instead of an actual or usual reply: the usual).

"No, just me," she said, slowly rising to her feet. The world tilted, but she didn't fall back down. Not her first rodeo, nor her first drunken weep-fest. "I've checked everywhere."

"Okay. Let me call you back in just a bit."

With that, Katya was gone. And then she was back – Trixie's phone buzzed with a FaceTime request. She had the urge to decline, then thought better of it. If she had lost Katya's cat, then called her in the middle of the night just to cry on her metaphorical shoulder, she could at least answer.

She tried to sweep away the remains of the mascara on her cheeks before accepting.

"Hi!" Katya chirped, way too brightly. "What is it there, 5 am?"

Katya looked sharp. Trixie could see sunlight pouring in from the (hotel?) windows. Her hair looked newly cut, a sleek bob. Trixie slid an apprehensive hand in her own hair, tried to detangle the suffering curls into something more presentable.

"Hey. 3 am. I didn't interrupt badly?"

"A crying drunk girl could never interrupt me. Let's look for the cat. I love him, but he's the devil sometimes. Did you check the kitchen cupboards?"

Trixie did, but she wanders back to the clinically clean kitchen and untouched cat food, sets the phone on the counter and opens and closes every door in silence. "Not here."

"Okay. Let's check out a couple more places, shall we? Put me on speaker."

They scour the apartment, one room and hiding place at a time. Katya's voice got stupidly saccharine while calling out to the cat. She switched to Russian at one point, and somehow, her voice got even softer then in a way that did stupid things to Trixie's already tired, messed-up head.

"He has escaped," she sighed out after a solid fifteen minutes of Katya's cooing and checking of weird but empty hiding places. "He is lost and lonely, and I fucked up, again, and.."

"One more place, baby, okay?" Katya had gotten less excited and more puzzled by the minute. That didn't help Trixie's mood.

 _Not your baby,_ Trixie thought blurrily. Her head hurt. "Okay."

"Let's go to the hallway, okay? Maybe he has.. yes, I think that's it. See that huge wardrobe? With the mirror doors?"

"Sure."

"Open it."

Trixie did. There isn't much she wouldn't do for Katya right now. "Lots of coats", she whispered, turning the phone so Katya could see. "No cats."

"Climb in."

"What?"

Katya raised an eyebrow.

She climbed in, the weight of wool coats, brocades and faux fur heavy on her.

"Good girl. There's a small, cat-sized hole on the right side. It leads to a.. uh.. secret storage of sorts?"

"What."

Katya's laugh was the hysterical, flailing kind. "I look like a Bluebeard now, right? Right? There might be a room full of skinned ladies there."

Trixie turned the camera to face her for a moment to capture her blank stare. Katya's laugh got louder. Trixie found herself smiling, just a little.

"Just.. look for the opening, Brenda."

"Honey, that's what your dad said."

It was such a weak joke, non-sensical, delivered with a weak, tear-streaked voice, but Katya laughed at it anyway.

Trixie pawed at the side of the closet until she found a small hole in the wall. "Ok, it's here. Now what?" She whispered because there is no way you can use your actual voice in the hush of the coat closet.

"Let me try," Katya's voice was a whisper now, too. Trixie turned her phone to the darkness, illuminating the small space within. There were stacks of paper there, a literal little secret closet sealed off. Katya began her cooing ritual once again, calling out to Myshka.

Trixie was just about to call quits (literally: quit the job, get someone else to take care of the cat, curl in this closet until she was tiny enough to crawl into the damn space herself and die there, alone and forgotten) when she heard a small meow.

"Katya," she whispered urgently. "I think he's in there."

“Yesssssss baby, now we’re talking”, Katya whispered back. “Котяра, mоя любовь, пожалуйста, перестань пугать красавицу.”

When Myshka's little head peaked out, Trixie let out a whispery whoop, dropped the phone and grabbed the wriggling cat. "I got him!"

"Yaaaay!", Katya's voice carried from the floor, fully not whispering anymore.

The phone had landed in a pile of winter scarves. Trixie picked it up, maneuvered them both out of the closet and slid the door closed.

Myshka looked just fine. A little grumpy, but that was to be expected. He escaped from her arms, shot an angry stare and jogged towards the kitchen.

Trixie (suddenly so tired, still very drunk) slid back on the floor, sighing deep.

"I was getting worried that he had hidden in my underwear drawer. No young girl should be submitted to that sight", Katya pondered at the phone screen. She seemed to be putting on her face, lifting a coffee cup to her lips once in a while.

"I'm sorry about all this," Trixie sighed.

Katya shrugged, nonchalantly, taking another sip of her coffee and continued painting her lips. For some reason, it was almost mesmerizing to watch.

 "So.. been clubbing? That's why you're feeding the cat in the witching hour?" Katya asks, not taking her eyes off the mirror. There was a hint of amusement in her voice.

Trixie felt blindingly stupid, suddenly, in her little pink dress and Barbie hair and extravagant makeup. It looked fine in the low lights of the club, made her eyes pop, made people notice. It didn't look good in the soft glow of Katya's apartment. Surrounded by expensive, meaningful things made her feel plastic-y. Small. Insignificant.

"Yeah," she managed, pushed herself back up to sit. "I mean.. I don't do this often. I promise."

It was a lie, of course, and Katya called her out immediately with a loud laugh. "Babe, I don't mind. The cat doesn't mind."

Trixie sighed, ran a hand through her hair. "Myshka hates me so much."

There was a definite twitch in Katya's lips. "Again, he hates everyone. Have I told you about the time I came home at 5 am so drunk I couldn't stand up? I threw up in the hallway, over my shoes. Then I crawled to the kitchen, tried to eat something. Couldn't. Took the food with me in the shower? Then ate the food in the shower? Myshka didn't speak to me for days."

Trixie was meaning to laugh but yawned instead. Katya halted. "Listen, Trixie, maybe you should stay there for the night."

"No, I really can't. I've been too much already." She tried to stand up then, but her legs betrayed her.

"Trix. Baby. Stay."

"Bet you say that to all of the girls you plan to murder."

"I know you're joking but.. yes, yes I do."

"No, I.." Trixie pushed herself up, leaving the phone on the floor, then had to crouch down to get it, and in the process fell over again.

"Okay, that's it. You're not going anywhere. I'm cutting your paycheck in half if you're leaving the apartment at that stage."

Sure.  Whatever. Trixie was too tired to argue. "Okay."

"Good girl. This is what we're going to do. You will text to a friend that you haven't been killed, then you find a bedroom that's good enough for you, and then you fall asleep. Capiche? Verstehst du? Ты понимаешь? And please turn off some of those lights. My drug den looks too lit right now."

Katya's half-painted eyes got crazy for a moment, then she swatted at the phone screen with her eyeliner in a fit of contained laughter. "Get it, too lit?"

"Oh my god," Trixie mumbled. "That joke is even more tired than I am."

She wandered into the most inviting looking bedroom she found during the Great Cat Search of 3 am. "Is this one okay? I mean, I can really go home too."

"Huh," Katya said, then smiled. "Yeah, that room is fine. The bed isn't too soft."

"Who doesn't like soft beds," Trixie mumbled. "Psychopaths, that's who."'

"Old people with back problems. You wanna change into something more comfortable?"

Trixie, sitting down on the bed, tried to muster a dirty stare to the camera. Katya laughed alright, but then looked at her soft and weird, her cheek pressed on her hand.

It was a weird moment.

"No, I'm just... gonna lay down just for a minute. Then I'm gonna go home. Really."

Katya's eyes were soft. Katya's voice was soft. "Baby, maybe just sleep it off. It doesn't matter. You're in a safe place, drunk, sleepy, why not sleep."

Trixie gave in, then. She let the phone drop on the bed, forcing Katya to stare at the ornate ceiling in the low, amber light while Trixie slipped off her dress, her bra and stockings.

Katya is calling out to her the moment she can't see Trixie, making sounds like mother owl to her chicks. "You ok, baby?"

"'m not a baby", Trixie mumbled, lifting the covers and slipping in before reaching for the phone again. She made absolutely sure not to flash anything. "'m a grown, independent woman."

It's was joke, of course – given the circumstance – but Katya didn't laugh. She tilted her head and smiled, white teeth blinding even in the blurry picture. "That's better. You feel better?"

"Yeah. I like the sheets."

"Okay. I gotta go now. I'm a grown independent woman too with important people to meet. Me, meetings! You, sleep!"

They hung up.

She fell asleep about two seconds later.

 

 

* * *

 

In the morning Trixie turned off the lights, as promised. She found her way to a bathroom and felt only slightly guilty using Katya's expensive makeup remover to clear her swollen face. Cold water calmed her skin down a bit.

Before leaving she checked, just in case: Myshka was sleeping on his usual place. 

 

TRIXIE

good morning

did I whine

 

KATYA

did u what now I simply do not remember a thing

 

TRIXIE

come on. I know I get all whiny when my body is trying to sober up

Helpless and whiny and bitchy.

 

KATYA

there might have been a bit of that yes

it was cute

you are cute, no worries

 

TRIXIE

. . .

 

KATYA

so cute

adorable even

like a 5 year old but a porno doll

 

TRIXIE

I don't know who I hate more, you or myself

 

KATYA

ME

me me me me me me

always me, babe

 

TRIXIE

Sure

Always you

That is a promise I can keep


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OH WOW
> 
> so you'll never believe me, but i fell into a literal rabbit hole and that is why i couldn't write like at all. it was very dark and moist there, but the rabbits adopted me as their own, so can't complain.
> 
> i am not abandoning this but as i have adopted several baby rabbits of my own, i am a very busy lady nowadays.

 

It was always an event when _the_ Bianca del Rio decides to drop in.

Trixie didn't really know who she was, not really, in the grand scale of things. This is what she knew (or thought she knew, at least:) Bianca was Nina's old friend, wealthy, somehow connected to the cashflow of the coffee shop. Intimidating, brash, cutting, but not in the dispassionate way some of their clients were. She seemed to have taken Adore under particular scrutiny, needled her regularly about the poor girl's performance. ("Lord," del Rio drawled more than once. "How is this place still in business with idiots like these running around?")

  
Trixie and Adore have always had this weird sort of fascination with her. Usually, when Bianca entered the coffee shop, they both tried to stay away and hear every word she said. Their job might've been a little bit boring, sometimes, and as mentioned, it was an event when Bianca came dropped by.

Today is that day. Enter: the _event_. At noon Bianca del Rio announces her entrance by the fast clicking of high heels and by slamming her handbag over the counter. She glances at Trixie over her sunglasses instead of ordering, then slides the unwavering gaze to Adore, who stand shaking and shell-shocked next to Trixie. Del Rio glides away, seats herself, and flicks through a glossy magazine until Nina arrives. Exasperated air-kisses and a more genuine hug follow, then more espresso and salads (arugula beet salad for Nina, and plain Caesar for del Rio – "Even that one girl can't fuck that one up"), then cold champagne with blueberries. There is a routine.

Trixie fixes her espresso, and the salads, and champagne because Adore doesn't seem to be on this planet anymore. At least the day is slow-ish, nothing Trixie couldn't handle on her own.

Which is good, because Adore is leaning against the espresso machine, white as a sheet.

"What's up with you today?" Trixie whispers to her. "Come on. I could use at least a little help."

Adore turns to look at her, eyes wide. She grabs Trixie's wrist and holds on like she's drowning. "I can't… I don't think I can.."

Trixie bites her lower lip in an effort not to get angry. People experience feelings in different ways, she tries to remind herself. Some people are dramatic. That is okay. It is okay to show your feelings. 

"Okay", she manages to whisper. "Let's just get through today. It's about some girl again? It is? Okay. Let's survive today, then wine and cry at my place?"

"Okay", Adore repeats. "I'm no serving _her_ , though."

Trixie can't really blame her. "Kitchen duty?"

They exchange quick nods like soldiers after a new order and return to their posts. She focuses on the customers: Adore focuses (hopefully) on the food and the dishwasher, and they'll manage. 

Then del Rio glances over her shoulder to the counter while Nina is still laughing over a witty joke. It's a small glance, just a brush of it, and the woman focuses on Nina as soon as she doesn't find what she's looking for. Which is.. what?

"Oh no," Trixie breathes out when it finally hits her. For a moment, it feels too absurd to be true, but even though higher-level mathematics wasn't particularly on point, she can count two and two together.

Evidence number 1: she knows what Adore's messy breakups look like. She also knows what Adore's breakups looks like because even that has happened before (RIP Laila, you were a good bean.) Moping? Yes. Not paying attention? Well, always, but especially now, yes. Moody, impenetrable silence that turned into a weep-fest as soon as Adore got any alcohol? Yes.

Evidence number 2: Has del Rio ever glanced back like that?

Okay, that one was weaker. But that was a weird, weird glance.

  
***

When they get home, Trixie brings out the emergency vodka bottle. (It has double duty as their celebratory vodka bottle, so it has little golden flakes in it, but we can't all be wealthy enough to purchase several bottles of alcohol for a different life event, _Karen_.)

It takes about half of a vodka shot to get the whole truth out from Adore. It's so much worse than she thought. A stupid crush and being cut down by a hot older woman in a power suit? That she can understand (at a theoretical level). But this? 

Trixie is not much of a talker, not when it comes to _love_ and _hurt_ and _complicated_ and _feelings_ - _in_ - _general_. So she let's Adore spill out the whole sordid tale like a pot that's boiling over, almost burning her with the raw emotion of it. 

She tries very, very hard not to joke about it. It's a defensive mechanism that would not be appreciated right now.

Trixie isn't a very good listener, and she knows nothing about giving any advice, but she loves to cook.  Food is her way to comfort people.  

So she cooks (mac'n'cheese and pancakes) and finds out just why Adore has been so out of it lately. 

In bullet points: There was an office Christmas party (which Trixie didn't attend because she was getting broken up with, which is mostly sad because of the lost free alcohol).  Adore did attend. So did del Rio. There was sex. It was excellent. That is why they met again. And again. And 

(at this point Trixie has to give Adore a shot – lemon juice, vodka, sugar – to stop her from shaking. It's her third. Lemon drops, in Trixie's humble opinion, are the only proper cure for acute heartache induced panic.)

... and then it turned into something else. Or so Adore thought. Del Rio didn't.

Which, obviously, sucks. 

"Huh," Trixie says. Adore stares at her with those super-expressive eyes, already welling up with tears again. Her eyeliner was running in streaks. "That fully sucks. Another pancake?"

Apparently, that is enough.

They fish out Trixie's guitar after half of bottle of vodka and all the lemon juice in the apartment, leave the kitchen as a complete floury mess for Kim to find the next morning, and cuddle up on the couch to play. They take turns strumming, singing some verses here, and some there. When Trixie gets a faint giggle out of her Anaconda cover, she's pretty sure Adore will survive, at least until tomorrow.

"Women suck," Adore says quietly into her shoulder a few moments later. Adventure Time is playing on the TV. They are sharing a blanket. There's a fourth of the vodka bottle left. It's almost cozy. "Girl rule, women suck. Okay?"

"Sure," Trixie says. She has no evidence to argue the contrary.

* * * 

 

 

A couple of minutes after midnight, her phone beeps.

 

KATYA

what is UP boston

 

TRIXIE

Nothing. Literally.

No cat night tonight, sorry. Fed him this morning so maybe he survives?

 

KATYA

he will

he's used to neglect :(

a hot night out?? 

 

Fully, Trixie thinks, glances next to her. Adore is fast asleep next to her, a warm heavy weight in her tiny bed, pressed against her side. Adore's barefoot is sticking out under the blankets. A bracelet with a tiny mermaid is dangling on her ankle. Trixie touches it gently, careful not to wake Adore. 

She sighs. She can't help but sigh. It be like that sometimes.

 

TRIXIE

Well…. my co-worker is sleeping on my bed so that's nice

I got that going for me at least

 

KATYA

ooooooooh

well 

i hope he's cute then???

 

TRIXIE

*she you retard.

Have you ever seen a guy working in Nina's

come to think of it, why is that

 

KATYA

not cool not cool r-word not cool

otherwise: fascinating information

y'all just a bunch of dykes

hopefully

 

TRIXIE

The one in my bed is at least, that's sure

 

KATYA

good to know lesbian pursuits are the reason why my poor kitty has been abandoned

 

TRIXIE

Not going to touch that sentence with a ten-foot pole

Tonight's pursuits have mostly been pining & crying

 

KATYA

v. lesbian

 

TRIXIE

Can't argue with that

I'll visit the cat first thing in the morning, promise

Gotta the mistress of heartbreak hotel tonight

 

Katya is silent for a while. Trixie's eyes are already half-closed when her phone pings again in her lap. It's a picture, heavily filtered with rainclouds and teardrops, and Katya looking forlorn somewhere in the pretend distance. It seems like she's in a conference room or in a meeting. Her tongue is peeking out from the corner of her mouth like she's pretending to be a dead animal but as subtly as possible. 

 

 

TRIXIE

Are you working? are you literally supposed to focus on a meeting or some shit right now? You absolute psycho

Focus!!!

 

KATYA

yes yes but very unimportant meeting! way less critical than teenage lesbian drama

signing names, transferring millions, crowdsourcing best places to bury bodies

trying to find out which flavor of ice cream cake Eileen from the accounting would just love for her 50th birthday

 

 

Trixie bites her hand, trying to hide the laughter that is threatening to bubble out (always too loud). She makes sure the flash is turned off, fiddles a bit with the fairy lights to get herself on a good angle, fluffs her hair. She gives a laconic thumbs-up to the camera and sends the picture without a second thought.

 

 

KATYA

yes tracy feed me!! more pictures of suffering lesbos on a bed for my collection

crash at my place?

 

TRIXIE

What now.

 

KATYA

your bed is tiny. your café sidekick (aida? adora? enya???) is taking approx. 7/8 of your tiny bed. you have my key and you have already made yourself known in my bed.

crash at my place. 

 

TRIXIE

Never remind me of that again.

 

KATYA

would convince you over the phone again (like last time) (you seem very quickly convincible trixabelle) but alas, have to pretend to pay attention to the ice cream cake situation

 

TRIXIE

Mint chocolate chip. Good night.

 

KATYA

everyone hates that you vile creature

gn

 

 

* * *

 

It's been ten days when Katya asks for a bit more. It has something to do with mail.

Okay.

And Trixie staying in the apartment. 

"Uh, no. Hard no."

They are talking on the phone, the easiest way to go over a slight cat-related issue, which turned out to be a non-issue, really. That's not the point, because when Trixie was trying to bid her farewells, Katya screamed (not exaggerating): NO, WAIT. 

  
So Trixie waited, trying to summon the curmudgeon of a cat with elaborate finger gestures. And then she said no.

"Why noooot? It's a perfect deal."

"Absolutely not."

The thing is, it is an outstanding deal, and that is what makes Trixie suspicious. Her bed has gotten too small with Adore either flailing (sleeping) or sniffling (pretending to sleep but crying) every night. Katya knows that. The tiny flat felt even tinier, and her own private, cherished kingdom had been invaded. It's tough. There's no room to breathe. 

But Adore keeps crying, and can't work, and it's all very dramatic. She absolutely refuses to go back to her own apartment, because apparently the bed there has memories. Trixie draws the line there and refuses to think about del Rio making memories with Adore of all people. Ugh.

Trixie still doesn't know how to listen, but Kim does. They tag-team the Adore heart-mending project. Trixie cooks the most comforting foods she knows, plays all the power ballads any of them can stomach and whenever needed, pats her messy hair which definitely needs washing, and doesn't even mention that. Kim listens, talks, gives sage advice and listens more.

On the other end of the phone line, Katya gets bored, starts humming her name out of tune. _Trixie, Trixie, Trixie._

"What?"

"Consider, please. Re-consider. A month more, the same pay, and you can live in my home as long as you want. Well, as long as I return. It would be kinda weird if you would stay there with me. I'm a messy girl. A dirty girl. You wouldn't want to see it."

"Poor Jessica."

"Who?"

"The cleaner," Trixie sighs, bites her lip. The cat is not budging. "Where's the catch?"

"What catch?" 

"Don't try me. I'm not that stupid."

She can almost hear Katya pout on the other side of the phone line, maybe oceans away. Her voice sounds crisp, but the line crackles once in a while.

"Come on," Trixie says. "Some of do not actually have a death wish."

"You're still sure I'm going to sacrifice you to appease the goddesses of immortality? To bathe in your virginal blood to restore my lost youth?"

"If you're searching for a virgin, mama, you're barking up the wrong girl."

"Barking up the wrong whore, more like." 

Trixie screamed, slapped the kitchen counter hard enough to scare Myshka even further from her. Well, you win some, you lose some. She can hear Katya's hacking laugh, then actual coughing fit further away from the phone. "You rotted cunt! You cannot talk to your employees like this."

"I wouldn't if they would do what I tell them to!"

Ugh. Trixie is losing this, she feels it, feels herself already caving in. She sits down on the kitchen floor, strokes her fingers over the cool marble of it. It's not like she's moving in. 

"Okay. You want me to do what? Check the mail? Because there might be a package arriving? Super suspicious."

"Noooooo…."

"Um."

"Well, yes, I understand why you would arrive at that conclusion. It's not anything very interesting."

"Pot? Cocaine? Money? The lost people of Roanoke? The Stefani Canturi Barbie?"

"No, no, no, unfortunately not, and what the hell is that?"

"Katya."

The woman in the other end of the world sighs lowers her voice a bit. "It's just plain old boring documents. Someone just has to pretend a bit to be me to sign them. I'm supposed to be there to receive them, and that is very important for a business accountability reason, and clearly, I am not, and I wish not to be punished due to a mishap of my assistant. Who, actually, should be reprimanded for overscheduling me, but the truth is, Tracy Martel, I am scared of her."

"Wow."

 "So you'll sit your pretty, pretty ass down on that Malay and eat bonbons and drink sherry and what-ever-the-fuck people do when they pretend to be rich for a month or so.."

".. whyyy do you think it's a good idea to insult me when you're trying to get me to do something?" Trixie interrupts, but Katya isn't listening.

".. Sign a paper with my name when the doorbell rings, smile pretty, that's it. No one gets fired, everyone's happy. Your workplace is closer to my apartment, right? You have a moody lesbian spreading her snot on your sheets, right? You really, really want to know where I've hidden all my booze, right?"

  
"Oh, fuck you. Okay, you maniac," Trixie sighs. 

"I knew I'd tempt you, baby girl. Get your nubile body ready to be slaughtered."

 

* * *

 

TRIXIE

So 

 

KIM

Oh no. 

 

TRIXIE

WHAT

I just have something to tell

 

KIM

Who did you piss off

What did you break

Who did you fuck

Please tell me it's not the older customer lady

 

 

TRIXIE

You're talking about her like she's 50??

 

KIM

Oh no.

 

TRIXIE

DID not fuck her

AM NOT going to fuck her

 

ADORE

higuys

 

KIM

Morning, sweetie. Trixie made pancakes again. In the fridge.

We're at work, because it's 4 pm.

 

ADORE

cool cool so who is fucking?

please tell me good news about fucking

 

KIM

Yes, do tell.

 

TRIXIE

NO ONE. I am just expanding my career options 

 

KIM

Oh no.

 

TRIXIE

and will be taking care of mail now 

and befriending the cat hopefully

so nothing BAD kimberly

just going to spend more time at Katyas place

A, you get my bed <3

 

ADORE

is this because of me :( :( :( i can leave if you need space

 

KIM

No.

 

TRIXIE

no ABSOLUTELY not. 

It's just a very cool place and I have to be there when a package arrives or something

 

KIM

Uh… 

 

ADORE

sounds super suspish

also who will feed me now :(

 

KIM

And me.

 

TRIXIE

I'm not abandoning you?? It's just for a month

I'll bring over ginger carrot soup when I drop by to get clothes and stuff after my shift<3

Nina made it herself.

 

ADORE

ok<3

tell her i'llbe able to work tmrw

 

KIM

You're going to die in that house, Trixie.

But please buy us a new toaster with the money

You know, to replace the one you fried last month

 

TRIXIE

oh no my break's over!

 

KIM

When you were so drunk you called your ex?

Then tried to make cheese toast when he didn't pick up?

 

TRIXIE

gotta go bye!

 

KIM

With actual cheese???

And our kitchen caught on fire????

 

TRIXIE

that could've been anyone

doesn't sound like me at all tbh

 

KIM

So please get the money before you die.

I miss toast.

 

 


End file.
